


The World Could Wait

by littlewerewolftori13



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Hallucinations, M/M, POV Sherlock Holmes, Pining John Watson, Possible Future Relationship, Protective Lestrade, Returning Home, Sherlock Holmes Returns after Reichenbach, soft cuddles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-15
Updated: 2017-10-15
Packaged: 2019-01-17 22:10:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,235
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12375141
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/littlewerewolftori13/pseuds/littlewerewolftori13
Summary: Sherlock knew of exactly 75 reactions that John could have to his return and 13 of the most likely ones.He thought he had known exactly what John would do by the time he reached the top step of the stairs leading to 221B.He was wrong.





	The World Could Wait

When Sherlock stepped up to the front door of 221b Baker Street, he thought he knew what to expect. Mycroft had given him the files he had kept on one John Watson while Sherlock had been... Gone. 

He knew that Lestrade still talked to John every so often, that he had even called John in for a couple of cases. He knew that John went out every Friday with Lestrade and Mike Stamford. He knew that John had tea every Tuesday and Thursday with Mrs. Hudson, but that since she had gone on vacation, John should be alone, resting in the flat above. 

As Sherlock climbed the stairs, he thought on each of the many ways he had envisioned John to react. Anger, violence, depression, happiness. He had come up with every situation he could think of, then tailored the list down to what his John Watson would do, then augmented the list with what information his brother had gathered for him. 

He knew of exactly 75 reactions that fit this final version of John and 13 of the most likely ones.

He thought he had known exactly what John would do by the time he reached the top step. 

He was wrong. He unlocked the door, noting that the lock remained unchanged, then quickly pulled it open. He stood in the doorway in a halo of light from the bulb behind him, just as he had planned. But John, who was sitting in his chair reading a novel with an untouched cup of tea resting next to him, barely reacted when he looked up.

With a small "hey" and a nod, he went back to reading. Sherlock froze.

This didn't fit his list. This didn't make any sense. What was John doing? Had he somehow already known? There was no way he was internalizing a reaction, he was too relaxed. Sherlock couldn't move for a good minute. Then, he carefully stepped forward and shut the door behind him with a click. 

It caused a small tremor to start up in one of John's hands, but that was the only visible reaction.

"John." Sherlock nearly staggered back into the door when this made John smile, albeit a small sad smile. He looked up, eyes traveling over Sherlock's face, his body, but then behind him, and also to the kitchen, as if he were looking for something specific and couldn't find it. 

"Yes Sherlock?" John answered quietly, his face tensing as his lips formed the name. "Did you forget your scarf again?" 

Sherlock was bewildered. This made no sense. This was not something John would do. This did not fit any possible profile Sherlock could ever had come up with. It left him floundering, being so out of control of the situation. 

"John, I'm back, I'm back, I came back. I'm not..." Sherlock trailed off bewildered as John just nodded at his words, then, realizing they had stopped, dropped his attention back to his book. 

Sherlock finally crossed the room to his chair and sat in it, staring hard at John, fingers steepled. After an hour or so, John got up and went to the kitchen. Sherlock followed after, crowding behind John as he made a cup of tea. John ignored Sherlock completely, avoiding touching him and even looking at him in general now that he wasn't talking.

They paraded back into the living room, John and his extra cup of tea, Sherlock on his heels. John placed the tea on the table by Sherlock's chair, then sat back down with a sigh. He picked up his book, but didn't read at first. Instead he stared at Sherlock. Then he closed his eyes for a very long moment and went back to reading. 

Sherlock took the moment to really observe John. His hair had quite a bit more grey in it than he remembered, and his face seemed a bit more lined then normal. There were dark smudges under his eyes, made more prominent by how pale his normally tan skin was. 

Sherlock grew even more concerned when he realized how baggy the jumper John was wearing was on him, and how he seemed to be holding himself with care, as if in pain. 

This was certainly not the John Watson he had expected to find. This is not even the John Watson Mycroft had warned him about. 

Mycroft had... Hinted at a few changes in John's habits, including what seemed to be an increase in illegal activities, though they were certainly beneficial to the local homeless population. Sherlock didn't mind that the money that he had left for John in his will being put to a different cause, as John thought it was a worthy one. Whenever John had free time, he would go out on the streets and doctor the homeless. Sherlock especially didn't mind that it was strengthening the opinion of John, which made it more likely that he would be protected.

But Mycroft either had nothing to say about John's deteriorating physical condition or he hadn't noticed. Sherlock would be having words with him on the matter. But there were more important things to think on now. 

Why was John ignoring him? Why was he so _calm_? 

Sherlock was shaken from his thoughts as John closed his book and gathered his cup, getting ready to stand. Sherlock again sprung up, ready to follow him. John just wandered into the kitchen, rinsing his cup, then passed Sherlock in the doorway as he went to go upstairs.

"Goodnight Sherlock." He called as he reached the stairs. 

Sherlock counted each step up and then the door closed and John was gone. 

He immediately slumped onto the couch. Almost as quickly he sprang back up. He started pacing, running his hands through his hair, mumbling to himself. Nothing made sense. 

He debated going to Mycroft that night, but he decided against it, wanting to be there in case John had nightmares or decided to pay attention to Sherlock in the middle of the night. He spent the rest of the night in his old room, going through the boxes that took up most of the room, except for on the bed which was conspicuously empty and clear of dust. 

The morning started with John stumbling down the stairs looking like he hadn't slept all night. Sherlock had stayed on the couch all night, alternating between hacking his brothers files and slipping fitfully into his mind palace to search for any clue of what was going on. He had a slight idea of what it could be. He knew it was possible. But he didn't want to believe it. He didn't want to think that things had gotten so bad. 

John walked past him without even a glance as he went and made his way through his morning routine. Sherlock frowned at the amount of coffee involved. John had been quiet all night, hadn't he gotten any rest? 

Sherlock decided to try for John's attention again.

"John." Sherlock stopped and frowned as John stopped moving entirely, placing his hands on the counter and taking a deep shuddering breath. But he started moving again, continuing his routine and, most importantly, ignoring Sherlock. Sherlock stepped closer to John and could almost feel him tense up. John carefully poured the hot drink into a cup, and moved to turn, but finding Sherlock there, in his way, made his hands shake, almost spilling the coffee. 

"Please Sherlock," he whispered, not making eye contact. "Not today. Not like this." Sherlock stumbled back, and John marched forward, sitting down heavily in his chair. He placed his drink on the side table and turned to face Sherlock who was still standing, frozen, in the kitchen having only turned enough to watch John pass. 

"Mrs. Hudson's bound to be home soon. If she hears me talking to you again... I need to stop allowing this, but you make it so hard..."

Sherlock's mind raced. Again, John had said, that means that... John had been talking to him? While he was gone? John had been, what, hallucinating him? He turned to look at John and paused, confused. 

John's head drooped forward, his breathing deep and steady. He had fallen asleep in under a minute, and in such a state... He would wake up in pain. Sherlock deliberated, but gently pushed and prodded John out of his chair and over to the couch. John barely even opened his eyes, seemed to not wake up at all during the move, and was fast asleep the moment his head hit the pillow. Sherlock carefully draped a blanket over him and sat back in his armchair, deep in thought.

He needed to reassess the situation. John thought he was fake! John thought he was an imagining of his mind and had been having this happen to him multiple times over the past two years. Mycroft knew nothing, Lestrade knew nothing, nobody knew anything! They were all so stupid, did they not see how his John was wasting away? (His John? Unimportant right now, examine later.)

He needed John to realize he was real, but how did he do that? So far, John didn't barely want to look at him, never mind talk to him, so how did he convince him? 

A ring interrupted him. His eyes located John's phone, and he quickly grabbed it before it could ring again and possibly wake John up. He answered it in a hushed but forceful tone. 

"What do you want?" There was a moments pause until the person on the line answered cautiously.

"Who is this? I'd like to speak to John." A female voice, careful and concerned. Dull.

"He's unavailable right now, what do you want?" He couldn't afford to be distracted like this, he had to find a way to fix this situation (a dull sense in the back of his mind reminded him that he was late on reintroducing himself to the others, Lestrade and Mrs. Hudson and whatnot, but John was more important) 

"John was scheduled to work today and hasn't shown or called in sick, I just wanted to make sure he's alright... Who is this anyways?" The female voice became sharp towards the end of the question.

"John's not coming in today, he's a bit predisposed. Don't call again. Goodbye!" Sherlock wanted to yell, he wanted to grab his Stradivarius and deafen himself to the world for a few hours so he could _think_ but John needed rest, John was priority. 

The phone buzzed, a text message, but Sherlock tossed it to the side and grabbed his laptop. He needed to find a way to let John know he was real without possibly triggering an emotional trauma. 

In the next hour, Sherlock honed a few plans that he could try once John woke up. He looked up to see how John was doing and cursed himself. John was gone. He must've slipped away while Sherlock was concentrating. Sherlock stood, quickly striding to check and see if John was in the kitchen before turning towards the stairs that led to Johns room.

"John?" He listened carefully to the silence of the flat. "John?!" There was a sudden noise on the stairs and Sherlock stepped forward, worried that John had tried going into work anyways, despite being exhausted. What if he had fallen on the stairs? John of all people should know how exhaustion dulled the senses.

As he took a second step towards the door though, it burst inward, reveling most unexpectedly Lestrade, who was pointing a gun at him. As Sherlock watched shock and anger flash across Lestrade face, he winced internally, realizing how badly he had handled this part of the situation. 

"John." Lestrade called back towards the stairs, making Sherlock jerk his head back towards the doorway and take another half a step forward as he realized John was alone out in the stairwell. He stilled his movement as he realized Lestrade was still holding the gun with laser focus on him.

"When did he show up?" There was no answer for a long moment. Then John appeared in the door to the flat, gone worryingly pale. 

"You... You can see him?" 

That got the weapon off him. Lestrade put the gun away carefully as he glanced between Sherlock and John uncomprehendingly before his gaze settled on John. ('Good' thought Sherlock, John deserved the concern in this situation.) 

Sherlock listened closely as Lestrade and John conversed carefully, edging around the main issue, before finally John sighed.  
"I told you, I had been seeing him. It had been so long since it had happened before yesterday that I thought I had finally... started to move on, started to heal. But then there he was again, making the grand entrance I had always imagined, and then he wouldn't leave, and I... I didn't sleep all last night and I fell asleep this morning and then Sarah must've called you about me missing work..." Lestrade interrupted. 

"Why didn't you answer the phone? She called saying an aggressive male had answered and was acting suspicious, which now that I know who it was," Lestrade said, gesturing at Sherlock, though not looking at him besides the slightest wincing glance "I understand why she took it so badly." 

Sherlock finally decided to step in. "I was just trying to help John. He needed to rest, and I needed to think." He explained quietly. "I admit I wasn't really thinking of how the situation would pan out after I involved another person." He finished miserably. Lestrade hesitated, finally fully looking at Sherlock again. He sighed and pointed at Sherlock.

"Don't think you've wriggled out of explaining yourself back at the station you berk. You've caused a lot of chaos and hurt. But... I am glad you're back. And _you_ ," he pointed at John, "are going to call me in the next couple hours or I'm coming back to kick both of your asses." Lestrade began to walk toward the door, but paused by John, placing a hand on his shoulder. "Are you going to be okay? I wouldn't find issue in dragging this one to a cell overnight until you want to deal with this." John chuckled slightly in surprise, finally relaxing slightly. 

"No, no... I think it's past time to face this." Lestrade nodded, then nodded decisively and turned to stride towards Sherlock. He tensed in surprise, almost expecting a punch, but instead arms wrapped around him in a hug. He held still for a second, shocked, but slowly wrapped an arm around him. Lestrade stepped back after a moment, but kept a hand on his arm.

"This doesn't mean you're forgiven yet, and don't think it'll come easy. It'll probably take about _three years_. But you came back. So thank you." With that, he turned and left, saying additional goodbyes to John at the door.

Sherlock stood there awkwardly as John stood facing the door where he had said goodbye to Lestrade. He hadn't moved farther into the flat since the conversation had started, and it didn't seem he would be inclined to do so any time soon. 

Sherlock clenched his jaw over the words that wanted to escape into the awful silence. They wouldn't help, but one phrase slipped out anyways. 

"I'm sorry." He almost whispered.

John didn't react, he seemed almost turned to stone. More stupid words fell from Sherlock's lips, even as he cursed himself.

"I, I only did it to protect you, I had to get rid of Moriarty's web, you have to understand, I needed... I... I can leave if you want. If you don't want to see me again, I understand." Sherlock started to turn away, to go to his room and pack, but was stopped by a shuddering exhale from John.

"No, Sherlock you utter idiot you don't understand _anything_." And then he was turning and walking toward Sherlock his face set in a grimace of what looked like pain. Sherlock readied himself for a blow, but once again a hug was bestowed upon him. 

Sherlock didn't hesitate this time to take John into his arms. He wrapped his arms around John as far as they would go and let John burrow his head into the joint of his neck and shoulder, his nose cold against Sherlock's sensitive skin. He himself pressed his lips to the top of John's head in a prolonged parody of a kiss, finally relaxing in the knowledge that John knew he was here and not a horrible hallucination. 

John started moving them and Sherlock followed, and never really leaving each other's embrace, they wound up on the couch, not speaking, just breathing in each other's presence. 

Finally John leaned back. 

"Please never do that to me again." 

Sherlock leaned forward earnestly.

"I have no intention of ever leaving you again, for any reason." He suddenly backtracked, uncertain. "Unless, unless you get sick of me, or you don't want me around or you want a life without me, or-"

"Shut up, you absolute moron." John interrupted. "You are the most brilliant, interesting, utterly mad person I know, and you are the best thing that has ever happened in my life." John glanced away momentarily and sighed. "I wanted this conversation to have less of me complimenting you."

Sherlock was stunned into silence over this development. It had been so long since he had been with John that he had almost forgotten this part of them. Sherlock being Sherlock and John calling him brilliant. He shuddered with the incredible blessing of being near John again and burrowed his face in John's hair, reveling in being allowed to be this close, to touch and take.

"Sherlock..." John let out a shaky breath. "You can't ever do that again. No matter what. Not even if there's another Moriarty, not even if I'm in danger again. You have to trust me, and let me in, do you understand? You have to let me decide for myself what I can and can't handle. Because I can handle many things, but something I cannot handle is losing you again. That will kill me. It almost did already." 

The shock of hearing the words, though logically having already been present in his mind, drove the breath from Sherlock and to his surprise caused his eyes to prickle with tears. 

"I promise." And he knew it was true. He couldn't ever do that again. The reason it had taken so long, had separated him from John and the rest of his life for so long was because he _had_ been separated from John. He pulled back, looked John in the eye and repeated it. "I promise." 

John nodded, his eyes dropping shut, exhausted. With a soft sigh, his head slowly sank down to rest against Sherlock's chest. Sherlock sat still as a statue as John's breathing began to even out and he sank into a restful sleep. After a few minutes of John's steady huff against his neck, he finally relaxed, shifting enough so he could lean his head against the couch. Even though he knew he had things to do, his cell phone was sitting on the bedside table in his bedroom and Mycroft probably had been trying to contact him, plus he really should get to reintroducing himself to the necessary contacts, but... he was fine with this. Getting back to the world could wait.

**Author's Note:**

> Hmmmm, I started writing this story about a year ago? Yeah, what's up guys somehow I'm BACK. I just found enough motivation to finally push this baby out and I've got about two more to try and juice up, but ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯ it may be another yeaarrr~~ hopefully it's not shit and you enjoyed


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